


Second Cup

by katmarajade



Series: Second Cup [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:12:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katmarajade/pseuds/katmarajade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Down on his luck, Dudley finds his second chance in a most unexpected place: a coffee shop owned by Zach and Marietta. He learns how to roast coffee beans, make a mean macchiato, and that he’s not the only one struggling to move on from past mistakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 [](http://dudley-redeemed.livejournal.com/profile)[**dudley_redeemed**](http://dudley-redeemed.livejournal.com/). Thanks to [](http://aigooism.livejournal.com/profile)[**aigooism**](http://aigooism.livejournal.com/) for looking this over and general cheerleading, [](http://wwmrsweasleydo.livejournal.com/profile)[**wwmrsweasleydo**](http://wwmrsweasleydo.livejournal.com/) for her detailed beta and britpick, [](http://starsandgraces.livejournal.com/profile)[**starsandgraces**](http://starsandgraces.livejournal.com/) for cheerfully answering a bajillion britpicky questions, my many f-listers who helped me come up with all the coffee drinks in here, [](http://browngirl.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://browngirl.livejournal.com/)**browngirl** for her guidance on Angelina’s hair, and also my husband, who betaed this like the hero he is (even though I don’t think he cares one bit whether Dudley is redeemed or not!)

 

  
Sometimes Dudley looks back and wonders just how he managed to get where he is today. He looks at the quiet face of the love of his life, softer in sleep than in wakefulness, and takes a sip of his freshly brewed coffee, which this morning is an Ethiopian Sidamo just-darker-than-medium roast, bold and rich, brewed with his trusty French Press to highlight its natural oils. It’s hard to imagine that it was only seven years ago that he could barely brew a cup of English Breakfast with the use of a Tetley’s tea bag.

Like with most major changes, there is always a tipping point. In this case, Dudley believes it started on that supremely rotten, dreary November Thursday six and a half years ago. That was the day that his flatmate Malcolm had announced his engagement and promptly kicked Dudley out of the flat to make room for Malcolm’s very loud, very screechy new fiancée.

Dudley then went to work, where his boss had informed him that he had to let Dudley go, due to complaints from some of his colleagues. Dudley was pretty sure he knew which colleague his boss was talking about: the slight, speccy bloke called Clancy who worked at the help desk and solved all the computer problems in the office. Though Clancy had never brought it up, Dudley was quite sure that he was the kid that Dudley had bullied at Smeltings when he was fourteen, when he was stupid and all his aggression and frustration and anger with his horrid, snotty cousin spilled out onto an unsuspecting school boy who had the misfortune of being small and looking ever-so-slightly like Harry.

The next summer Harry had saved his life and Dudley began realising that his cousin wasn’t quite as terrible as he’d always thought. With that change of heart, Dudley liked to think that he would have been better to Clancy the next year, defended him or something, but he would never know, because Clancy didn’t return to Smeltings. By the time Dudley had found this job, he’d changed; he was no longer the bully he’d been and he wanted to make a fresh start in the world, forget his checkered past. Life does not always make it easy for you to forget and move on, though.

His boss seemed surprised at the lack of shock or argument from Dudley, who accepted the news calmly. Dudley had already learned by that point that past mistakes are never truly forgotten, and he realised then that he might never quite be finished paying for them. Gathering his small cache of belongings, Dudley left the office quietly, believing that this was a rightful portion of his penance. Clancy watched his exit surreptitiously from across the room. Dudley gave him a polite nod as he left, hoping to express silently that he understood, that he knew why this was happening, and that he agreed that it was his due. Dudley doubted that he got much of that across with a simple glance and a nod; he probably just looked constipated or stupid. A bloke could hope, though.

So he wandered the streets of London, suddenly homeless and unemployed, wondering what in the world he was supposed to do next. The drizzle came and went, a constant ebb and flow, and Dudley found himself in an unfamiliar part of the city. Quiet, dusty bookshops and dark pubs lined the street, small flats with faded curtains above them, and a Pharmacy with a flickering _Open_ sign in its window sat on the corner. There were narrow alleys between the stone buildings with only the cloud-dimmed sunlight to illuminate the litter-strewn pathways.

Then he heard the voices, a sadly familiar cadence of taunts and jibes. His pace quickened and he reached the next alley. There stood a blond man with a firmly-set, square jaw facing off three others, two men and a woman, all with nasty expressions. The man in the middle was hissing insults and from the blond man’s face, Dudley was sure it wasn’t the first time he’d heard them.

“Problem?” Dudley said in a purposefully neutral tone. He didn’t raise his voice, but it carried down the alley like he’d shouted.

The three apparent trouble-makers spun to look at him and Dudley met their assessing gaze silently, not letting any emotion cross his face. He’d had plenty of experience with bullies, too much. As expected, the tall man who’d been doing the taunting appeared to be the leader. He broke eye contact first and let out an offended huff.

“C’mon, we have better things to do,” the leader muttered to his friends. “See you later, Smith.” The bully tossed the blond man, Smith, a nasty look before the trio walked away, the leader squaring his shoulders and trying to look unaffected as he walked past Dudley, who knew it was a pretence of strength and control. Dudley let them walk and turned to the man remaining in the alley.

“All right?” he asked, noticing how the man, Smith they’d called him, eyed him with a mixture of suspicion and trepidatious gratitude.

“Zach Smith,” the man offered, reaching out his hand. Dudley shook it and offered his own name in return.

Zach let out a deep breath and nodded his head uncomfortably. “So, erm, let me buy you a cup of coffee? My wife and I own a shop just down the street.”

Dudley could tell Zach was the sort who struggled with things like thanks or apologies and accepted immediately. It scared him a little that Zach might actually thank him, because Dudley didn’t want a thank you, didn’t deserve a thank you. This time Dudley was right, had done right, but too many times he’d been on the other end, and bullies who stop bullies are still bullies.

The coffee shop was only about a three minute walk away, an unimpressive exterior with a cheerful sign out front identifying it as _Second Cup Coffee Shop_. The interior, however, was warm and cosy with old, well-worn wooden tables and mismatched chairs. There were stained glass corners in the windows and green and orange lamps casting a soft glow. One corner of the shop had a complicated blue machine with metal bits sticking out. The walls in that corner were lined with large canisters of coffee beans. The tempting smell of roasted coffee blended with a hint of burnt sugar, and Dudley found himself looking hungrily into the display case full of pastries.

“What will you have then?” Zach asked. His tone was polite but brisk.

“Er, I don’t really drink coffee much, except for the occasional Nescafe,” Dudley admitted, as he stared at the large chalkboard style menu listing a whole slew of unpronounceable items like macchiatos, mocha lattes, and chai.

“No worries. Angelina here can fix you up with something perfect.” A tall, black woman with the most complicated, intricate-looking braided hair Dudley had even seen grinned at him.

“This is always the fun part. How sweet do you like things usually?”

Dudley answered her questions as well as he could, a little in awe of her energy and speed as her hands flew around the fancy looking coffee machine. After taking a sip of the concoction she handed him, he grunted in surprise.

“Good, yeah?” she said with a knowing grin.

“Angie makes the best espresso drinks of anyone I’ve ever met, which is saying something. However, she cannot brew a decent cup of tea to save her life. I swear, it’s horrid. Never have I had a worse cuppa. I don’t think she’s really English, actually.” Zach gave Angelina a smirk and she swatted him with a spare towel.

“Oh, shut it, you tosser,” she retorted, affecting her poshest accent. “I’m more English than you could ever hope to become. I am the very essence of all things England. I am a fucking human Union Jack. When people hear the world English, they think the Queen, the Tower of London, Doctor Who, followed up closely by Angelina Johnson, Briton extraordinaire. Actually, I’ve heard they’re thinking of putting my face on the twenty quid note next time they update it. Besides, your grandparents were from Belgium! You’re practically fresh off the Continent.” Angelina threw him a mocking look and Zach tried to look offended but couldn’t help the slight twitch of his lips. Dudley realised that this was old hat to these two and that they were used to hurling around insults.

“Fighting again, you two?” A woman with a wild expanse of reddish-gold curls framing her round face walked into the room. A white apron wrapped around her ample hips and smears of what looked like flour on her cheek and one arm.

“‘Lo, love,” Zach said, leaning over to kiss her. “Marietta, this is Dudley. Dudley, this is my wife, Marietta.”

“Call me Mary,” she said, smiling pleasantly. “I’m trying to make a new start here and calling myself Mary makes me feel like I’m not the same girl I used to be.”

“I like the name Marietta,” muttered Zach sullenly, clearly repeating an old argument.

“But you love me more,” she said, giving him a quiet, sad look. He nodded in agreement and pulled her into his lap.

“So, Dudley, what brings you here? Are you a friend of Angie’s?”

“I brought him here, love. He was …“ Zach started before Dudley interrupted him.

“Just met Zach when he was out earlier, and he invited me to stop by for a coffee.”

Zach looked at him curiously but did not comment. Mary scrunched her face up in amused confusion. “Really? My Zach, befriending people on the street? How very un-Zach-like.”

“Well, I appreciate it. It’s getting a bit cold outside and this cup of … whatever this is.” Dudley glanced at Angelina for clarification.

“Half-caff coconut almond latte-- didn’t want to get him too wired if he wasn’t used the the espresso.”

“Yeah, well, it’s quite nice.”

“Do you live around here then?” Mary asked.

“Oh, erm, no, not exactly. I need to find a new place. My flatmate’s just got engaged and kicked me out, actually. So I should head over to Soho in a bit and see if my mate Piers will let me kip at his for a bit 'til I find a new place and a new job, come to that.” Dudley mumbled the last part, talking more to himself than the others, but Mary looked appalled.

“You’ve lost your job, then?”

“Yeah, this morning. Wasn’t the best place anyway and I’m sure I’ll find something soon.” Dudley tried to sound positive, hoping he didn’t seem as miserably pathetic as he truly was.

“Nonsense, you’ll stay here then. Until you get back on your feet. We’ve got a spare flat upstairs, and if you’re interested, you can absolutely work here. We’ve been needing to hire on some extra hands.”

And that was how Dudley Dursley moved into a flat across the way from a pair of wizards (though he hadn't realised that part quite yet) and began working at a coffee shop when he did not yet know the difference between espresso and an Express train.

His was the smaller of the two flats above the coffee shop. Zach and Mary lived in the other just across the hall. Dudley could have sworn that when Mary went in there the first time, there was nothing in the place, but when she brought him in to see his new residence, it was simply furnished and there were even sheets on the bed and towels in the loo. She shushed him when questioned and he was too tired to argue.

Dudley entered the shop the following morning at 4:45, as instructed by Mary the night before. Zach was on the side of the shop with the large roaster, pouring freshly roasted beans onto the stainless steel cooling bin. Mary called out a greeting from the back of the shop, where she was just putting another tray of scones into the oven.

After washing his hands thoroughly enough to satisfy Mary, Dudley was given the task of moving the pastries from the cooling racks to the display case. Once they were lined up perfectly in straight rows and columns, Zach came over with a large canister of coffee.

“Today we’re featuring a batch of Colombian Excelso Grade, very light roasting to highlight the natural acidity of the beans. Should make a great mild breakfast blend.” Zach explained, showing Dudley the beans. Dudley looked worried and Zach smacked his shoulder lightly. “Don’t worry, mate. You needn’t remember all that. I’ll write it out on the board there. We feature a different in-house roast every day and two on Mondays, because they’re innately awful and everyone drinks more coffee that day.”

Dudley nodded and listened carefully as Zach explained the basics of coffee roasting and how to measure the beans, grind them for either espresso or pour over coffee, and where they kept the equipment.

“Angie will be working this morning, so you should be able to watch and learn. She’s basically an espresso ninja.”

Angelina walked through the door at three minutes before six, threw on her apron, and waggled her eyebrows at Dudley.

“All right, newbie. You ready for this?” When Dudley just stared at her in confused panic, she laughed. “You’ll be fine. It’s coffee, not Arithmancy!” Zach cleared his throat loudly and Angelina’s eyes widened. “Arithmetic is what I meant. It’s not maths, thank Mer-goodness.”

Dudley gave her an odd look but wrote off her strange behaviour to a lack of coffee. Apparently coffee drinkers were an addicted lot and didn’t function well without their caffeine.

The first customers trickled in a few minutes later and Zach came over to man the cash register. It was obvious by the way that Angelina greeted them and called out their orders that they were regulars, and Dudley watched her buzz around the espresso machine in awe. Both she and Zach would call over to Dudley when they needed beans ground and he dutifully measured, weighed, and ground the beans according to their specifications-- extra fine for the espresso machine, medium-fine for pour over coffee, and two requests for coarse grind for what Zach called a French Press.

“Triple extra large extra hot latte for Percy! Small pour over coffee of the day with a shot of hazelnut for Adrian! Large Earl Grey for Roger-- oh, don’t give me that, Davies! I didn’t make it myself so shut it! Medium dark chocolate semi-skimmed mocha for Demelza!”

The morning passed in a blur of coffee grounds and busy customers. Dudley was grateful when the crowd slowed again and plopped himself onto a stool, able to rest for the first time in hours.

“Oy!” called a slender, impeccably dressed woman as she walked through the door. Her hips swung like a pendulum wrapped in a perfectly-fitted grey skirt and crisp pink blouse. Dudley couldn’t help but stare, because he was pretty sure she might very well be the most beautiful person he’d ever seen in real life. She narrowed her brown eyes at him, cocked one perfect eyebrow, pursed her red lips, and snapped her fingers.

“Triple macchiato, extra foam, and what the hell, give me a shake of that cocoa powder. It’s been a bloody long day already.”

Dudley glanced over at Angelina who was watching him with barely hidden amusement.

“Angie,” the woman said, giving Angelina a perfect pout.

“I’ve got you, love,” Angelina laughed, already tamping the espresso and grabbing a tiny takeaway cup.

“You must be new,” commented the woman, eyeing Dudley curiously.

“Yes, just started, actually,” he answered.

Angelina handed the woman her drink and said, “Oh, don’t tease him, Alicia. He’s still delicate, this one. We don’t want to lose him quite yet!” Angelina gave him an encouraging pat on the back. “This is my girlfriend Alicia. She’s a barrister and sounds far nastier than she really is. Inside she’s practically an itty bitty kitten hiding in three hundred Galleon suits and similarly overpriced shoes.”

“I’ll have you know that I bought these Louboutins on sale, thank you very much,” Alicia sniffed. After a fortifying sip of her macchiato and a grateful smile to her girlfriend, Alicia thrust out her hand and Dudley tentatively shook it, a bit worried he might accidentally tarnish her immaculate nail varnish.

Pulling off her apron, Angelina turned to him. “I’m taking my lunch. Think you can handle this place? Push the pour overs-- you’re decent at those now. Or tea. This shop isn’t nearly British enough anyway. If they’re real tossers about it, well, tell them that this isn’t bloody Seattle and I’ll be back in thirty minutes. And perhaps give them a biscuit to tide them over. Normally Zach would be available to help, but he’s taken Mary to an appointment. I guess she’s feeling poorly.”

Dudley looked at her with panic, but Angelina wrapped her arm around Alicia’s skirt-covered hips and shrugged. “It’s time for lunch with my girlfriend, Dudley. You’ll be fine.”

Taking a deep breath, Dudley reminded himself that things were quieting down and other than Alicia, there hadn’t been a customer in nearly half an hour. He touched the espresso machine experimentally, then drew his hand back quickly as if it might attack him with a sudden burst of steam. His sudden movement caused a pile of spoons and portafilter baskets to crash to the floor.

He was still muttering to himself, cursing his clumsiness, and gathering the scattered metal when he heard a very polite throat clearing from the counter. Dudley jumped to his feet only to step onto one of the round, metal portafilter baskets and have his left leg slide out from beneath him. He grabbed the edge, almost losing himself again when he accidentally grabbed a towel, which slid off the counter too.

Thoroughly embarrassed, Dudley could feel his face flush a shade of magenta and attempted to appear less flustered than he really felt as he looked his first on-his-own customer in the eye. Thin lips were smirking slightly, but there was no real malice or even amusement in the man’s grey eyes, just a shuttered sort of tiredness. Dudley took in the sleek yellow hair tied back with a simple leather strip and the smooth, pale chin that narrowed to a sharp point. The man was slight, perhaps a bit too thin, really, and his lean frame made him look a bit taller than he probably was. His hands rested comfortably on the counter, and Dudley’s hands clenched involuntarily, feeling hulkish and graceless next to the long, slender fingers.

A long moment passed where Dudley just stared at the man, who was watching him curiously. Finally, the man politely cleared his throat-- again, and Dudley remembered where he was.

“Oh! Sorry, yeah, sorry, erm, what can I get for you?” he managed, feeling like he was in no way cut out for a job that required him to deal with other human beings.

“I’ll have the darkest roast you have today, large, French Press, please.”

“French Press, dark roast, got it,” Dudley hit a few of the buttons on the cash register, which had strange markings and a curious-looking conversion list on one side labelled _£- **S**_. “Erm, this doesn’t seem to be working properly today. I think it’s just, the … weather,” Dudley finished lamely.

The man raised a pale eyebrow and Dudley knew that he saw right through him. “I’ll just get that coffee for you then, shall I?”

Dudley spun around and frantically scanned the canisters of beans. Thankfully they were all labelled in Zach’s meticulous script with their name, roasting date, and a little indicator dot on a scale of light to dark. Grabbing the canister of French Roast, Dudley carried it over to the small coffee grinder. For individual cups they did not use the large machine but the small burr grinder. He silently thanked those two other French Press orders earlier in the morning, because he had done this several times and should remember how. Carefully measuring out the proper amount for one large coffee, Dudley poured in the beans and set the grinder to _coarse_ before pressing the automated button and hoping for the best. He tried to offer his customer a smile, an assurance that all was well and that he knew what he was doing; he doubted it worked, but the man looked surprisingly unannoyed by the obvious novice who was most likely destroying his expensive cup of coffee.

He transferred the ground beans into the glass carafe, noticing the oily sheen and the slight burnt smell and hoping that that was normal. As he reached for the wooden stir rod, which was on the shelf above him, he accidentally knocked over several jars. He watched in horror as a puff of brown smoke descended on the coffee he was trying to brew. Grabbing the jar he turned to his customer, eyes wide and embarrassed,

“Fancy a free shot of cinnamon?”

The man let out a choked noise, and it took Dudley a moment to realise that it was a laugh, a rusty, broken, forgotten sound judging from the shocked look on the man’s face.

Taking that as an affirmative of sorts, Dudley waved away the cinnamon particles still wafting through the air and poured the water. He carefully set the timer, stirred the coffee after a minute, and let it steep.

“I’m new,” Dudley explained, as if the man might not have figured that one out on his own.

“I thought you might be,” the man said, a slight smile on his face now.

“If this cup is as rotten as I’m hoping it’s not, I’ll try again. Otherwise, Angelina will be back in just … erm, twenty-five minutes or so.”

“It’s fine.”

“Well, if you ever need someone to ruin your coffee again, just ask for Dudley.”

The man let out huff of breath that might have been a laugh and looked thoroughly startled by that. “I will. Johnson never makes it strong enough, anyway. I’m Draco, by the way.”

“Draco,” Dudley repeated, thinking that the name sounded strangely familiar but unable to place it.

The timer beeped and Dudley jumped. Turning back to the coffee, he slowly pushed down the plunger until he’d pressed all the grounds to the bottom. Grabbing a large cup, he poured the coffee and set it on the counter for the man to examine.

Draco swirled the cup as if he were holding a brandy snifter instead of a paper cup and inhaled deeply, taking in the aroma, the almost-but-not-quite-burnt caramel sweetness, slight bitterness, and warm, pungent cinnamon. He let out a sound that Dudley could not quite place. After adding a touch of milk, Draco took a sip and both eyebrows rose up higher than Dudley would have believed they could go.

“This is tolerable,” Draco observed, looking curiously at Dudley, who beamed at the lacklustre but sincere praise. “Cinnamon, huh? I never would have thought.”

“Yes,” Dudley replied eloquently, which seemed to amuse Draco, though Dudley wasn’t sure how he knew that given only the miniscule upturn of Draco’s lips. There was a vast swarm of complexities within that grey gaze, a gaze that before today Dudley would have thought of as perfectly normal. It made him wonder just what Draco’s story was, because a person couldn’t look that haunted without a hefty history.

Dudley’s thoughts were interrupted as the door swung open and two more men walked into the shop.

“‘Lo!” called out one, a rather short, stout fellow with a thick head of dirty blond hair and a confident grin. He spotted Draco and nodded politely but his smile dimmed. “Malfoy.”

“MacMillan,” Draco returned the nod, his complicated eyes now shuttered and flat.

Dudley looked back and forth between them with a bit of confusion.

The other man stepped up to the counter. “Are you finished hogging the barista, then, Malfoy?” he asked, looking at Dudley curiously.

“Yes, quite,” came the clipped reply and Draco disappeared through the door.

“So, you must be new here. Where’s the usual crew?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m new. Er, I’m Dudley, that is, and new. Zach and Mary had an appointment and Angelina should be back from lunch shortly.”

“Right, well, I’m Cormac and this here is Ernie. You’ll be seeing quite a lot of us.”

“In here every day, most times more than once!” Ernie agreed, flashing Dudley a friendly smile and extending a hand. Dudley took it carefully.

“So we’ll be needing a couple of depth charges,” Cormac said. “As quickly as possible, because my head is bloody well killing me. And don’t be stingy-- let’s make them doubles.”

Dudley looked at them, panic written all over his face, and Ernie started laughing.

“Is this your first day then? Let me guess. Zach gave you a two hour lesson about coffee beans and no one bothered to teach you how to use the espresso machine.”

“Something like that,” Dudley answered with a wry grin. “I don’t even know what a depth charge is.”

“The nectar of the gods,” said Cormac seriously. “It’s espresso in coffee. One isn’t enough. I need my caffeine in doses unsafe for general human consumption. There’s no functioning without it, and if I don’t function then I don’t work. And if I have to hear one more lecture from Smethwyck about my lack of drive … “

“Shut it, McLaggen,” said Ernie, his tone friendly as if they bickered like this all the time.

“You can tell me to shut it all you want once I have coffee, Ernie, but you have to realise it won’t do you any good until then. I won’t give up-- I won’t ever give up!”

“You said it’s coffee, right? I can do that part at least. Large?” Dudley asked.

“Yes, two larges and make them strong. I like to feel my eyeballs melting out of their sockets after a sip or two.”

Dudley hurried back to the coffee canisters and began carefully measuring out the beans for two large pour over coffees, adding an extra scoop for good measure, because Cormac was quite convincing in his caffeine dependency and oddly charismatic despite his irritability. He could tell that his process was a bit heavier handed than his more experienced colleagues, because both Cormac and Ernie were practically bouncing at the counter, Ernie’s head bopping up and down in a cadence of jitters and Cormac’s large hand tapping ever-more-quickly on the countertop.

Dudley slowly set down the two large, piping hot coffees in front of them, trying hard not to spill them (he had a hunch that these two might take offence at wasted coffee). Both men nearly sloshed their drinks out of the cups in their hurry to bring them to their mouths and Dudley watched in horrified astonishment as they gulped the nearly boiling liquid into their bodies as if it were lemonade.

Just as Dudley was deciding which machine was less likely to make a total fool of him-- the cash register or the espresso maker, Angelina returned.

“Miss me?” she asked, immediately donning her apron and washing her hands. “Let me guess, the McDuo want shots in their coffee.”

“Erm, yes. The what now?”

“McLaggen and MacMillan, the most overly caffeinated pair in the whole of Britain,” she explained. “Have they paid already?”

“Erm, no.” Dudley lowered his voice, “I can’t seem to work the machine.”

“Oh.” Angelina looked surprised. “Sorry about that. I thought Zach would have given you a crash course during your training … but now that I think about it, your entire training consisted of the deep complexities of coffee roasting and grinding and not an ounce of practical shop knowledge. I should have known."

“Stand by, gents,” she said to the men who were almost finished with their coffees already, forty seconds into their twenty ounce cups. She tamped the espresso and pulled two perfect shots, informally carrying them over to the counter and dumping one into each of their emptying cups, making sure the rims never came into contact. Tossing the espresso glasses into the sink behind them, she pushed Dudley to the cash register where she proceeded to detail exactly how to work the complicated-looking machine. He was pleased to discover that it was not that difficult after all and that it made sense when she explained it.

“Thanks,” he said, squinting at the machine, because it seemed that the numbers kept shifting when he wasn’t focusing. He shook his head, ignoring the formerly-familiar-but-now-nearly-forgotten feeling of something being not quite right.

Waving him out from behind the counter, Angelina insisted he take a lunch break. She handed him a wrapped sandwich from the shop down the street and a steaming cup of sweet-smelling, frothy something.

“Picked you up a sandwich. First day’s always rough. Now go sit down for little while.”

He did as instructed, surprised when Ernie and Cormac, who were now each on their second giant depth charge, invited him to join them at their table. They argued and laughed and guzzled espresso, and Dudley watched their back-and-forth with amazement and eventually amusement. Cormac talked faster than most auctioneers and Ernie had the jolliest laugh that, coupled with his round, red face, made him look like a twenty-something Santa Claus. And just like that, Dudley made what would turn out to be two of his best friends.

His time at the coffee shop passed quickly, but every moment seemed busy. He woke early and came downstairs where Zach gave him further lessons on coffee roasting and Mary fed him ridiculous amounts of morning pastries, arguing that someone needed to taste test the almond croissants and red currant scones in case she messed up the recipes (which she never did). Zach and Mary were wonderful and Dudley was grateful that they’d given him a job and a place to stay, but he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to them.

They were both horrible at dealing with the public. Though sweet and friendly in private, Mary became extremely uncomfortable when other people were around. She never made eye contact, her voice shook, and her hair became a security blanket, covering her face and hiding her from the world. Dudley felt very defensive of her and snapped at one bloke who made a belittling comment about her lack of social graces.

Zach was gruff and looked annoyed most of the time and angry the rest. He was terse and snide and quick to assume the worst. He had a nasty comeback whenever he thought someone was attacking him (which he seemed to assume most of the time) and he glared a lot. Dudley wrote some of that off to his artistic temperament, because Zach was nothing if not an artist with all the passion, temper, and idiosyncrasy that came with it. In addition to that, Dudley knew Zach had made mistakes a while back and was still paying for them. Dudley knew this, because he was dealing with the same experience himself. For just that reason though, Dudley never said a word to Zach or asked about it; he didn’t want to talk about himself either. Some things were better left in the past, if the world would let you leave them there, at least.

On the other hand, Zach was also hilarious and made Dudley laugh with his dry, biting wit. He was fiercely protective of his friends, his employees, and, in particular, his wife. Zach’s soft spot was Mary, which was clear in every single thing he did. The only time his face cleared and his expression softened was when she was present or he was talking about her.

Zach’s protectiveness of Mary became even more pronounced when three days into Dudley’s employment they announced that they were going to have a baby next May. Angelina squealed, Mary looked happier than Dudley had ever seen her, and Zach practically beamed. Though Dudley found babies to be strange, loud, messy, and incomprehensible, and the idea of having one himself was actually quite horrifying, he couldn’t help but be glad for his new friends who were clearly chuffed about their upcoming sprog. In addition, Mary’s baking started to include much more chocolate, which Dudley thought was a very good thing.

Dudley learned the ropes from Angelina, who worked insane hours along with him. She claimed that she was saving up for something special and Dudley guessed from the soft look in her eyes that it had something to do with Alicia, who stopped by daily. Dudley began to see through her sharp tongue and brusque exterior. Alicia was always impeccably dressed with heels far too high and skinny for London streets and she was ridiculously picky about her beverages, but she also doled out praise when Dudley managed to create his first “acceptable” macchiato, whispered to him ways to annoy Angelina (then gave her girlfriend sassy winks when Angelina overheard), and gave him genuine smiles when she left. Besides, Angelina confided that Alicia might be tough-as-nails at work, but at home she spoke baby talk to their cat, was scared of spiders, and cried at romantic comedies. Dudley found himself slightly less intimidated by Alicia after that.

Dudley started to remember a few of the regulars. Draco appeared daily, usually when Angelina was on her lunch break, and Dudley became even more adept at making coffee in the French Press.

“French Press, darkest of dark, with a pinch of cinnamon,” Dudley recited when Draco walked in the third day.

Draco raised an eyebrow and nodded his head almost regally. “Please.”

The fourth day the last person in the world whom Dudley would have expected walked through the door.

“Hey-oh,” Angelina sang, before glancing back at Dudley with confusion. Dudley just stared, jaw slightly dropped. Staring just as awkwardly right back at him was his cousin.

“Dudley,” Harry said finally. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Right, er, I work here actually.”

“You work _here_?” Harry asked, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

“Oh, do you come here often? Is this place … _oh_!” Dudley waved his finger in the air, the pieces finally coming together. Harry and Angelina watched him worriedly.

“With the words and the funny money and the feelings and … yeah. So you’re a …” He let his voice trail off, looking at Angelina, who didn’t seem quite sure how to answer.

“I’m a what?” she asked guardedly.

“You had no idea that this was a wizarding shop? How on earth did you start working here without realising that? Or even with realising that!”

“Harry!” Angelina looked appalled.

“Oh, don’t worry, Ang. Dudley’s my cousin. We grew up together, isn’t that right, Big D? He knows all about Magic.”

“Huh,” Angelina said, letting out a heavy breath. “Well, I guess that makes things easier.”

Dudley glanced down at the cash register again and for once the blurry, shifting numbers settled into clarity. He pressed a button and the tray popped open. Sure enough, there were piles of pounds and pence but even more silver pieces, bronze bits, and a couple of larger gold coins. For some reason before today those had looked almost just like euros, which Zach had told Dudley to accept as payment.

Angelina finally broke the silence. “So, you want some coffee, Harry?”

“Yeah, extra large americano with room,” Harry mumbled, still looking concerned about his cousin’s presence, as if Dudley were going to go berserk any second.

Dudley glanced up at the board, on which he now saw prices clearly stated in two currencies. After squinting a bit at the board he turned back to his cousin.

“All right, Harry, that’ll be three sicks and twelve newts.”

Harry and Angelina cracked up. Dudley just shrugged, tossing the coins Harry handed him in their proper receptacles.

“See you around, Dudley,” Harry said as he left, not trying to hide the warning look he shot Angelina.

“Bye, Harry,” Dudley answered. They might not be friends, but at least it appeared they could be civil. He thought that was a pretty good start.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Down on his luck, Dudley finds his second chance in a most unexpected place: a coffee shop owned by Zach and Marietta. He learns how to roast coffee beans, make a mean macchiato, and that he’s not the only one struggling to move on from past mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the 2013 [](http://dudley-redeemed.livejournal.com/profile)[**dudley_redeemed**](http://dudley-redeemed.livejournal.com/). Thanks to [](http://aigooism.livejournal.com/profile)[**aigooism**](http://aigooism.livejournal.com/) for looking this over and general cheerleading, [](http://wwmrsweasleydo.livejournal.com/profile)[**wwmrsweasleydo**](http://wwmrsweasleydo.livejournal.com/) for her detailed beta and britpick, [](http://starsandgraces.livejournal.com/profile)[**starsandgraces**](http://starsandgraces.livejournal.com/) for cheerfully answering a bajillion britpicky questions, my many f-listers who helped me come up with all the coffee drinks in here, [](http://browngirl.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://browngirl.livejournal.com/)**browngirl** for her guidance on Angelina’s hair, and also my husband, who betaed this like the hero he is (even though I don’t think he cares one bit whether Dudley is redeemed or not!)

His skills improved daily and soon he could sling espresso like a professional, though Angelina was still the superior barista, no question. Sometimes Zach ventured out to help during the big rushes and a few times a week a quiet but efficient woman named Lisa worked the register, but in the afternoons and on the usual quiet days, it was more often than not Dudley and Angelina by themselves. 

“Probably better this way. Zach and Mary are brilliant at what they do and they keep this place running-- do all the behind the scenes type stuff that I wouldn’t even have a clue about, but they don’t like being out here,” Angelina said. Then she showed Dudley how to make a new drink. Dumping two expertly pulled shots of espresso into the cup she called it, “Extra hot, extra dirty chai-- my favourite.” After a pause she poured a small amount into a cup for him to taste.

“Not bad,” he agreed, secretly pleased that his coffee palate was expanding and that Angelina seemed properly impressed by his ability to drink beverages without at least two sweetened flavour shots in them now. 

He loved hearing her rattle off the long, complicated names of some of the drinks, and was amazed at how she remembered so many of the regulars. But slowly he began to remember them too. 

“Small skimmed single pump hazelnut latte with an extra shot for Hermione! Medium cappuccino with a shot of sugar free vanilla for Padma! Triple espresso for Justin! Large iced raspberry mocha with extra whipped cream for Tracey! Earl Grey, extra hot for Jean Luc! Small iced soy latte for Su!” 

Dudley found that he truly enjoyed working at the shop. He enjoyed getting up early (though not as early as the proprietors, thankfully) and helping Mary carry out trays of baked goods from the kitchen. One of his favourite parts of the evenings after closing was watching Zach work the roaster, and he was getting better at recognising the various stages and distinctions of each roast and which type of roast would best highlight a particular kind of bean. Just the other day Zach had called him a natural born coffee roaster and promised him that sometime soon Dudley could man the roaster himself, with supervision of course. 

Other than boxing, no one had ever told Dudley he was a natural at anything. And considering what he’d started out doing with his punching prowess, he did not feel he could claim that as an admirable skill set. He had a punching bag that Zach told him he could hang from one of the exposed rafters in his flat. Boxing was a good way to blow off steam and keep fit, but he didn’t like advertising the fact that he was skilled at hitting anything, even if the only thing he would ever allow himself to punch these days was a dingy black training bag. 

Mornings were full of setting out pastries and watching Mary cluck over Dennis, the new bloke they’d hired to help with the baking and to cover for Mary when the baby came next summer. Dennis was a scrawny, fiery man who wore extremely tight trousers and thick-rimmed eyeglasses that Dudley wasn’t sure were functional or just fashionable. It was entertaining to watch the two pastry creators bicker about their art, and Dudley found it oddly comforting how those arguments were always warmer than the fights he remembered from his youth, with Dad shouting, Harry bellowing, and Mum looking like she would pass out from the stress. Dudley also liked how both of them tended to have flour smeared on their faces and always smell like almond shortbread and raisin scones. 

Angelina showed up just before six on every day but Sundays, when the shop was closed anyway, and Thursdays, because she had the day off. She liked to bring the espresso maker back to life, so Dudley usually left that for her, and he opened the doors, letting their regulars trickle in. 

The first four hours tended to be quite busy, the long morning rush getting to work. Dudley discovered that the Ministry of Magic did not keep set hours for their employees. Many of them took advantage of that, either starting earlier so they could finish earlier or coming in to work a bit later. 

On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays Lisa worked the register and Dudley’s job was a blur of bean grinding, pour over coffees (sometimes five at a time), and handing out the drinks that he and Angelina were making. On Tuesdays it was usually quieter and he and Angelina alternated working the register and the making the drinks. On Thursdays when Angelina wasn’t working, Dudley was in charge of the espresso machine, which was a bit of a thrill, though he preferred the relatively slow speed of regular coffee brewing to the hissing hurry of espresso drinks. 

Lunch time was quiet and usually spent chatting with Angelina. The afternoons brought a different crowd, usually including a few people who were just walking by (a rarity in the mornings, when nothing on the street was open yet save the Ministry.) Draco’s early afternoon coffee became a daily ritual and Dudley found himself endeavouring to make it better each time, though a few times his attempts had caused Draco’s face to scrunch up at first sip and then Dudley would insist on trying again. 

Cormac and Ernie usually came in a bit after three in the afternoon, settling into a table as they drank at least two large depth charges a piece. They were both Healers in Training at the Wizarding Hospital, which meant long days, early mornings, late nights, and a great deal of stress. Dudley could never figure out their schedule, as some days they were just finishing eighteen hour shifts and some days they said they’d be starting in an hour or two. Tuesdays were the end of their work week after several extra long shifts in a row and Cormac tended to top his coffee off with a hefty slug of whisky on those days. It wasn’t really the thing, but as long as he wasn’t dancing on tables Dudley, Zach, and Angelina tended to look the other way. 

The shop closed at five each day and Dudley even enjoyed cleaning the place afterward. He must have gotten a bit of his Mum in him after all, because he enjoyed wiping down the counters, washing the cups, and taking apart the coffee makers and coffee grinder for a more thorough clean. Angelina cranked the wireless after they locked the door and some days Zach would pretend to be disapproving, but Angelina’s ridiculous floor sweeping/dance moves made even Zach, whom she sometimes referred to as Ice Man, laugh. Angelina usually left soon after that. 

After helping finish closing and cleaning (which was a far simpler task when the shop owner could use magic), Zach would begin his daily regimen of pacing in front of the roaster, trying to decide what the next blend should be. Dudley tossed out ideas and Zach would dismiss them with a wave, but eventually they’d come up with something that caught Zach’s interest and he’d get to work. Watching the roasting process was relaxing and smelled good, so Dudley usually hung around for it. Mary often came down, sometimes bringing dinner, and she introduced him to Gobstones, for which he found he had a real knack, and Wizarding Chess, which annoyed him because the pieces (and they’d tried several sets) refused to listen to a Muggle and would wander off the board in protest if he tried to move them manually. 

The schedule was full and Dudley worked all day every day but Sunday, despite Zach and Mary repeatedly offering him additional days off. He preferred it that way; it helped him sleep soundly at night and gave him little time to dwell on anything else. For the first time in years, he felt he could move past the mistakes of his youth and focus on becoming someone better. The guilt still gave him twinges from time to time, as he hoped it always would, but he started to see himself differently. For the first time in his life he felt useful and productive. He began to see himself as a man with talents and skills and a purpose. It was exciting and new, and he found it was giving him a lot more confidence. Real confidence and purpose, he discovered, were far more satisfying than the arrogant bravado he’d affected as a youth.

“My usual, please,” said Draco, pulling off his fancy gloves and setting them on the counter. Dudley was glad to see that there was a hint of a strut in Draco’s usual hunched shuffle and that he was holding his shoulders more squarely. The man clearly needed a bit of confidence. 

“All right, but we’re branching out today just a tiny bit, all right?” Dudley said with a grin. Draco looked worried and his shoulders fell slightly but he said nothing.

“Really, it will be great! I know you love the dark stuff, but this one is just a touch lighter-- still on the dark side, don’t worry!” 

Draco winced at that and Dudley paused. “I really think you’ll like it.”

“It’s fine, Dudley. Proceed … please.”

Dudley cheerfully ground the beans, which he’d watched Zach roast just last night, adding a pinch of coarsely crushed cinnamon (which he had discovered over the last few weeks worked better than the ground powder he’d accidentally added that first day) and slowly poured the water. 

“It’s a high-altitude Guatemalan bean with a city roast to highlight the complexities of the bean, including a hint of spice and chocolate,” Dudley recited from the card Zach had left.

“I like French Roast,” Draco said, a hint of petulance in his voice. 

“Yes, well, we’ll give you a beret with your coffee tomorrow, but just for today you need to try this delightful roast of the day, especially because the cinnamon is going to make this thing bloody pop, I swear.”

Draco choked out a laugh while maintaining a slight pout, which amused Dudley. For all his terse bravado and suave arrogance, Draco was also funny, if a bit high strung, and a lot more vulnerable than Dudley figured he meant to let on. As Draco took a sip of his freshly brewed cup, Dudley watched with anticipation. Pale eyebrows rose slightly, grey eyes brightened almost imperceptibly, and Dudley was convinced he spotted the tiniest possible upturn of the left side of Draco’s mouth.

“It’s adequate,” Draco sniffed and Dudley let out a loud burst of laughter. For a moment Draco looked affronted, but his expression softened as Dudley kept laughing.

“It’s fantastic and you know it,” Dudley choked out between torso-shaking bouts of laughter.

“It’s … decent.”

“It’s bloody brilliant, Draco. You love it! Success!” Dudley was almost dizzy from laughing and the absolute high of making a risky call that paid off with dividends. (The fact that he had consumed probably eight shots of espresso at that point may also have been a contributing factor.) 

Draco allowed a small smile. “Yes, all right, I find it perfectly enjoyable.”

Dudley was sure he had not laughed this hard in years. For some reason this handsome, pouting, difficult-to-please, slightly snobby man allowing Dudley to change his usual order (minutely, but still) gave him an unbelievable rush. Just from their short acquaintance, Dudley could tell that Draco did not allow himself to be dictated to and that he would be rather dangerous if pushed. (Though Dudley was sure that he could take Draco in an honest fight, he imagined that Draco fought dirty and had learned that the hard way. Plus, Draco had a Magic wand and, as such, a bit of an unfair advantage.)

And he liked it! Draco liked that cup of coffee, the cup that Dudley chose for him so carefully and it was brilliant. 

“I think you’ve had altogether too much caffeine,” Draco sniffed, but his grey eyes were soft and Dudley knew he wasn’t really as annoyed as he sounded. 

“You’re not wrong,” Dudley said, still feeling uncharacteristically giddy.

Draco smiled, a full-fledged, face-shifting, teeth-showing smile. And Dudley’s belly lurched at the sight.

“Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen,” Angelina said, eyeing them curiously. Draco flushed and looked back down, muttering something, and slipping quietly through the door. 

“Malfoy, huh?” she said. “Interesting.”

“He liked my coffee-- I made him try Zach’s Guatemalan blend today.”

“That’s only slightly over medium,” Angelina mused, displaying once again her impressive memory for her regulars. 

Dudley grinned and she shook her head. “Whatever floats your broom. Now go take your lunch. Point of interest-- the shop on the corner has spiced chicken dumpling soup today and it’s sublime.”

Dudley nodded, hung up his apron, pulled on his coat and scarf, and went in search of soup. He had only taken a few steps into the dreary afternoon air when he nearly ran into someone. In front of him, to his surprise, stood a nervous-looking Draco.

“Hello,”

“Er, hello, again. Just saw you three minutes ago, after all,” Dudley said.

“Right,” Draco pursed his lips and stared irritably at a traffic light. 

“So I hear the place on the corner has good soup. That’s where I’m going. To get soup.” Dudley continued, gesturing towards the shop with the blue awning.

Draco hesitated but then said, “I like soup.”

“Fancy getting some lunch then? I wouldn’t say no to the company.”

“Oh, if you like,” Draco said off-handedly, as if the thought would never have occurred to him otherwise. Dudley gave him a curious look but simply shrugged. 

Dudley and Draco both ordered their bowls of soup, which came with hearty French bread and thick slabs of butter. Dudley attempted a few conversation starters but Draco looked uncomfortable, so they simply ate in companionable silence. 

“Nice, er, running into you, Dudley,” Draco said as they deposited their trays at the rubbish station. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the shop probably. I do enjoy my afternoon coffee.”

“See you tomorrow, Draco,” said Dudley, offering a wave, before heading back to work. 

 

“Your tea, ladies,” Dudley called, setting the small ceramic pots that they used for the customers enjoying their tea there in the shop next to a pair of slightly chipped tea cups. He pointed at the two pots. “Fujian Jasmine Pearl for Luna and Victorian Rose for Ginny. Enjoy!”

He leaned back against the counter, feeling more comfortable with himself than he had in a long time. It was nice feeling like he belonged somewhere and that he was doing a good job. It was nice not feeling like the big, slow bully who’d been a total arse as a schoolboy. It was nice sipping coffee (a Costa Rican blend very lightly roasted to highlight the sharp acidity and citrus flavour) and actually enjoying it like a bona fide adult. 

Late mornings were a quiet time in the shop, which were enjoyable too. As the weeks passed, Angelina explained everything there was to know about the espresso machine during their down times, and then she moved on to her thoughts on home espresso makers. From there she talked about which biscuits she and Alicia preferred and her theory on why she hated bananas. She explained in vivid detail the hours of work that went into creating her elegantly braided Mohawk hairstyle, which took an entire day to accomplish. The hairdresser would take out her braids, wash, oil, and comb her hair, and then rebraid everything, and while that was happening her hairdresser’s mother always wandered around in her dressing gown and complained about the government, the world, the weather, teenagers with their trousers falling off, and pretty much everything else under the sun. She explained the basics of the War, of which Dudley had only had a partial understanding. Angelina was an open book and she was very fair and non-judgmental, especially about what people had done during the war. 

“We were kids and times were really tough. I don’t think it’s reasonable to expect every school child to be able to save the world. We all have our own crosses to bear and reasons for doing what we did. Now our whole community is judging each other on what you did or didn’t do to win the war. I think that some of us made better choices than others, some of us were less brave than we should have been, and some of us looked out for ourselves and our loved ones instead of trying to save the whole world. It’s never as simple as they say it is.” She looked sad for a minute and Dudley began making her a dirty chai, extra hot just how she liked it. 

After hearing some of the stories, he understood a little better why Zach and Mary were so guarded and why Draco flinched when someone called out his last name. He also felt a bit better too, because he wasn’t the only one with a tricky past that would never quite go away. 

He just finished pouring a decaf cafe au lait with honey and a full-bodied, medium-roasted Kenyan pour over coffee for Zach to take upstairs when Draco walked in. Zach gave Draco a once over and a nod, which was his version of a cordial _hello_. 

“Smith,” said Draco, inclining his head politely. “I heard you and your wife are expecting. Congratulations.”

Zach narrowed his eyes momentarily, as if gauging whether the statement was intended as an insult to Mary, but when he seemed satisfied at the genuineness of Draco’s words, he actually smiled. Briefly. 

“I put a couple of the big, chewy ginger cookies there for you too, Zach,” Dudley said, pointing. “One of your old school chums was here earlier, a Pufflehoof I think she said. Anyway, she mentioned ginger was good for morning sickness.”

Zach and Draco both smiled at Dudley’s wording, quick, blink-and-you’d-miss-them expressions. 

“Thanks. Stop by after closing if you want, Dudley. Other than baking in the mornings, she’s been sleeping half the time. The bloke we’ve got helping her out is getting decent though. He’s the one who made the muffins this morning. Mary still hasn’t relinquished her scone recipe, but it’s only a matter of time.”

Once Zach had gone back upstairs, Draco cleared his throat delicately, as if he were trying to find a nice way of stating something that was sure to be received poorly. That always made Dudley nervous, because it was what usually happened right before he was fired or told that it might be better if he didn’t come around anymore. 

“Yeah?” Dudley asked, his tone a touch more aggressive than it needed to be. 

Draco blanched and his mouth bobbed open and closed several times at a loss for words. Dudley immediately felt a twinge of guilt; perhaps Draco hadn’t planned on saying anything objectionable at all. 

Angelina chose that moment to walk in from her lunch break and Draco immediately tensed and reassumed his typical straight-shouldered, ducked-headed, averted-eyed stance. 

“Malfoy,” Angelina said. “I’m beginning to wonder if you might have someone watching me. It’s curious how you always show up when I’ve gone off for lunch, even though that time is a bit different each day. I wonder why in Merlin’s name that could be?”

Draco flushed and muttered what sounded like _crazy coincidence_. 

Angelina grinned and gave Draco an _I-know-what-you’re-up-to_ wink. He fled, leaving Dudley calling weakly after him that his coffee wasn’t finished yet. 

Looking at the full cafetière of bold, French Roasted, Ethiopian Kaffa coffee that he’d been brewing for Draco, Dudley sighed. 

“Want a coffee? Dark roast with cinnamon.”

Angelina shook her head and gave him a strange look. 

“Er, Dudley?” she asked. 

“Yeah?” he asked, only partly listening as he pushed down the plunger on the abandoned coffee anyway, not wanting the perfectly customised cup of specially roasted coffee to go to waste. The last few weeks on Dudley’s request, Zach had been making at least one or two special dark roasts a week, usually French Roast varieties but sometimes a slightly lighter Vienna or slightly bolder Italian Roast to mix things up. This was a new batch that Dudley had helped Zach create himself, one whose flavours would really be highlighted with a touch of cinnamon. 

“Dudley, look at me,” she demanded.

“What?” he said, glancing up briefly as he poured the coffee into a mug. He leaned back against the counter and inhaled the spicy, smoky aroma of his perfectly roasted and brewed cinnamon coffee. He couldn’t bear to toss it, so he took a sip, nodding to himself when he tasted how perfectly the cinnamon blended with the beans. He met Angelina’s irritable gaze.

“You do realise that Draco is completely arse over teakettle in love with you, yeah?”

Dudley spewed cinnamon coffee all over the floor. 

“What?!” he exclaimed. “What the hell are you on about? That’s completely stupid.”

“Is it? He comes in here every single day and usually makes sure he gets to see you, alone if possible. He _smiles_ , Dudley. He smiles at you!”

“So do almost all of our other customers,” Dudley pointed out. “Making a bloke laugh certainly isn’t the same as making him fall madly in love.”

“Woah woah, laugh? You make him _laugh_?! You make Draco Malfoy laugh?” Angelina gave a disbelieving snort. “I don’t think Malfoy has laughed since long before the war. He keeps to himself, doesn’t talk to anyone if he can help it, does his job at the Ministry so that he can keep up respectable appearances, and takes care of his mother, who hasn’t left their house since his father was taken to Azkaban. He used to be the brattiest bully in school, all cocky smirks and strutting about. I mean, he screwed up colossally during the war, but I almost miss that self-righteous little prat he used to be. Anyway, just trust me. I haven’t seen Draco smile in literally years. And you make him laugh. Hell, he’s practically glowing whenever I see him in here.”

“Maybe he laughs because I’m funny. And maybe he smiles at me because I’m the only person in this little world of yours who doesn’t remind him of his past mistakes. That’s not love. It’s the desperate desire for someone-- anyone-- to see you as something other than a great bullying bastard and to understand that maybe you’re not as rotten and useless as you were as a stupid, selfish, spoilt kid.” Dudley was annoyed now and Angelina was giving him an odd look. 

“I would guess that’s exactly what Malfoy would want. You know him really well, don’t you?”

“I know myself really well. Draco I can only guess at.” Dudley said, sighing and taking a fortifying sip of coffee. 

“If I’m right, if he fancies you as much as I think he does, would that be something you’d be interested in?” Angelina asked, watching him closely. 

“Interested? I … well, it doesn’t matter. You’re _not_ right, so it doesn’t do much good worrying about it.”

Angelina smiled. “That’s what I thought.”

“What are you talking about?” Dudley glared at her but she didn’t answer. The door opened and Cormac and Ernie walked in, both laughing about something. Dudley turned and started measuring out the beans for coffee. 

Angelina let it go until she hung up her apron for the night. As she pulled on her hat and waved at Alicia through the window, who’d just stopped by to walk her home, she turned to Dudley. 

“You might not believe me, but I happen to know people. And I’m right. I also know that he will never ever do a damn thing about it. I’d call him a coward, but I honestly can’t say that I blame him. He’s scared and lonely and feels guilty. It’s a crappy situation. But he’s not really a bad sort. I think you two would be good for each other, but if you ever want that to happen, you’re going to have to make the first move.”

“Let it go,” Dudley said, his voice flat. 

Zach walked in and glanced between them. “Is something going on I should know about?”

“No,” they both said in unison. Angelina gave Dudley a loaded look and ducked outside. Dudley watched her and Alicia walk away, arm in arm, and let himself wonder for just one short second, what it would be like to have something like that. 

The next few days were difficult. Dudley felt as if his trusted co-worker had betrayed him by giving him some sort of ridiculous false hope. Before Angelina had said anything, he’d been perfectly content to think of Draco as another nice regular, a bloke to joke around with a bit and impress with his coffee making prowess, someone with whom he could share lunch perhaps, but nothing fancy-- just a quick, quiet snack between mates. But now he was second guessing everything. 

He barely spoke to Angelina, who seemed to realise she’d pushed him to his limit and was willing to give him a bit of space. He went upstairs early three days in a row, which had Zach and Mary concerned. His coffees were still excellent, but it was obvious his heart wasn’t in it as he handed out the drinks, not bothering to call out the names like he usually loved doing. 

As for Draco, that was simply disaster. Armed with Angelina’s theory, Dudley kept trying to see for himself if it were true. Unfortunately, his attempts were mainly long, suspicious-looking stares, which made Draco jumpy. After the first couple of odd glances, Draco began avoiding eye contact with Dudley and when he didn’t show up at the coffee shop on Thursday, Dudley’s mood soured even further. 

Friday was awful. Dudley, having barely managed to sleep the night before, snapped at Mary in the morning for absolutely no good reason, which caused Zach to yell at him. Angelina was two minutes late and Dudley purposefully started the espresso maker without her, pulling a pair of lattes for the first customers and leaving her to work the cash register. 

When a customer complained about her coffee not being hot enough, Dudley had to physically check himself to keep from shouting at her. 

“Our barista will make you a fresh cup,” he said stiffly. He turned to Angelina. “Sorry, but I think I need some air. I’ll be back later.”

Angelina gave him a relieved look, which told him he’d probably been horrid all day, and he tossed aside his apron, pulled on his jacket, and stalked out the door. 

The easiest way to clear his head was to work it off. A very brisk walk sometimes did the trick and Dudley figured he could use the fresh air anyway. The January afternoon was damp and cool, grey mist flirting with the buildings and a distracted breeze shaking dangling signs then wandering off. Dudley stormed down the street for about fifteen minutes before heading back towards Second Cup. His spirit was slightly calmer as he neared the shop, his face flushed from the chilled air and mild exertion, his blond hair quite windblown. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Dudley saw someone approach from the alley. Still on edge, Dudley spun around, feet apart and hands raised loosely in front of his chest; this odd-looking position allowed him to slide seamlessly into his orthodox boxing stance if necessary while not appearing quite as defensive if the person proved little or no threat. Years in the ring had taught him caution and care. 

Draco’s startled expression caused Dudley to drop his hands instantly. 

“Draco, er, sorry. I’m a bit jumpy today, it seems.”

“Right,” Draco’s skin flushed and Dudley was pretty sure it wasn’t from the cold.

“You didn’t come in for coffee today,” Dudley said, trying to keep his voice neutral, like it was just an off the cuff observation. “Or yesterday.”

“I … I felt a little off the past couple of days and thought I should avoid the caffeine,” Draco said, not meeting Dudley’s eyes. 

“Right.”

“What are you doing out here anyway? Aren’t you usually working at this time?” Draco asked, as if he didn’t know Dudley’s schedule by now.

“Needed a break. It’s been a bloody long day.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Draco said, eyeing Dudley carefully.

“Yeah, Angelina’s been on my case about … something lately. And it’s got me on edge and I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Are you all right?” Draco asked, concern obvious in his voice. 

Startled, Dudley answered, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just she thinks that … well, she thinks some ridiculous nonsense and I’m just all confused now. I don’t like it. Makes me feel stupid and I get-- I don’t like how I act when I start feeling like that.”

“You’re certainly not stupid,” Draco said with conviction, his shoulders pushing back and his nose raised up slightly, as if disdainful of anyone that disagreed with his obvious assessment.

Dudley let out a short laugh, more surprised than amused. No one but his myopically devoted parents had ever believed in him so strongly. 

“Well, you’re not,” Draco repeated, a bit waspish this time, seemingly offended by Dudley’s reaction. 

“Thanks,” Dudley managed, running a hand through his hair and suddenly feeling shy. 

“No need to thank me,” sniffed Draco, who looked snobbier than Dudley had ever seen him but also rather vulnerable. 

“Angelina thinks you’re in love with me,” blurted out Dudley. His face flushed at his sudden, embarrassing outburst but he couldn’t quite keep his eyes from watching Draco, waiting for some sign that either this information was the stupidest thing ever, or maybe, perhaps, just possibly that it contained the tiniest glimmer of truth. 

Draco stared at him, grey eyes enormous and frantically searching. “Why … why would she say that?” 

“Well, she’s got this mad notion that we’re perfect for each other or some such rot, I dunno.”

“Mad notion,” repeated Draco, looking a bit panicked.

“Yeah, well, I told her that you probably weren’t interested. I mean, successful, handsome men like you don’t go for thick-headed Muggler blokes like me, whose only skills are making a fucking cuppa and hitting … stuff.”

Draco’s nose rose up even further and his tone turned unbelievably snooty as he said, “Best fucking cuppa in London, I would dare to wager.”

Dudley just laughed and Draco paused, watching with something like sadness in his eyes. 

“She’s not wrong, actually,” Draco finally said, averting his gaze. 

“Not wrong. You mean Angelina? About the stuff?”

“Yes, about the _stuff_ ,” huffed Draco, annoyed that his confession was not being properly received. “As in, I do happen to, well, you know, love you … a bit. I’m not bothering you, simply enjoying a daily cup of coffee like many other customers, so I should hope that this won’t affect our … relationship, as it were.” 

Dudley tilted his head, amazed that Draco could hold his nose that high and still breathe; he thought that was a skill only his mother had. Now was the time to take his shot, to make the move that Angelina said he’d need to make. 

“What if I promise to make you the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had,” said Dudley. He bit his lip, terrified that this was going to blow up in his face. 

“The best?” said Draco sceptically. 

“Well, yanno, your emotional state can really affect your taste buds,” Dudley explained in his most serious voice. “So my theory is if I start making an absolutely brilliant cup of coffee-- your beloved French Roast French Pressed with a bit of that pricey Saigon cinnamon-- and then I set the timer and snog the life out of you until it goes off … well, all those whatsitcalled, er, endorphin thingies would make it taste rather amazing.”

Draco’s eyes widened comically and his bratty, aristocratic expression vanished, replaced by honest, stunned confusion. Dudley shrugged and gave him a hopeful smile, at which Draco finally regrouped, assumed his most regal face, and nodded. 

“Very well. As long as it’s French Roast.”

Dudley laughed and Draco joined in a moment later. 

“Er, I’ve got the necessary supplies back at the Manor … would you mind if I took you there via Side-Along Apparition?” Draco explained the process to Dudley, whose libido overrode his fear of Magical transport, and he agreed.

One terrifying moment later, Dudley arrived in a very fancy foyer with a crystal chandelier that probably cost more than he would make that year. 

Draco gingerly took his hand, as if worried that Dudley might object, and lead him towards another room. Dudley looked around at the fancy green divan and intricately carved end tables with confusion. 

“Erm, where’s your coffee?”

“I think that, just for today, I’m going to skip my afternoon cup,” Draco said. His voice was lighter and his smile brighter than Dudley had ever seen before and it was terribly distracting.

“But I thought I was going to …”

“I thought you were going to kiss me,” finished Draco firmly.

“Oh, er, well, I can do that.” Dudley grinned and his large hands shot out, yanking Draco’s narrow frame to him in an instant. 

Draco watched him carefully with a look of nervous anticipation, which made something inside Dudley’s chest twist almost painfully. Sliding his hands into Draco’s fine blond hair, Dudley lowered his mouth to Draco’s, kissing him softly, slowly for a long moment. Draco’s lips were thin and fitted to Dudley’s perfectly, pushing against him just as impatiently as Dudley would have expected from Draco. Dudley pulled away for a brief second to meet Draco’s dove-coloured eyes then dove back in, this time firmer, harder, faster. 

Slender arms snaked up between them and Dudley felt himself pushed towards the emerald sofa. In that moment, he knew he had to make a choice. 

And Dudley Dursley, who had lived his entire life never ever allowing _anyone_ to have the upper hand against him, allowed himself to fall. 

And fall hard. 

The rest, as they say, is history. Running his coffee-stained fingers through Draco’s soft hair, slightly matted from sleep, Dudley still can’t believe that someone like him could wind up as happy as this. 

But that’s a lesson he’s learned from his job. That sometimes you can screw up a cup of coffee beyond saving. Too burnt, too weak, too strong, too bitter. Any number of bad choices or mistakes can leave you with a horrible taste in your mouth. 

Sometimes, you need to toss the rubbish, wash your vessel until it’s clean again, and make a second cup.


End file.
